Liz Jones: In which there’s a miracle

I decided to show willing, and sell my wedding band and my ‘friendship’ ring, which I’d been wearing on my right hand since my divorce. I was annoyed, though, that my so-called boyfriend would make such a demand, that I must stop wearing them both. I had enjoyed wearing a wedding band, while the marriage lasted. At last, I was part of a couple. At last, I was normal. At last, I was taken!

As I wrestled with a bar of Bamford soap to get them off, I was still smarting from the fact I’d discovered, via a casual remark on Twitter, of all places, that my boyfriend had been in London and had not even bothered to get in touch with me. He’d been out to dinner, and not invited me! I haven’t raised this issue with him, though. I don’t want him to think I’ve been snooping.

My mobile rang: a number I didn’t recognise. I answered it cautiously

Giving in, and traipsing up and down Hatton Garden, trying to pick a shop that looked most likely to want my jewellery, felt like a bigger defeat than perhaps it actually is. But then, as is always the case with me, I couldn’t sell them. Every shop I braved took one look, and said, ‘The diamonds are pavé, they just aren’t big enough. Neither will ever sell. They are just not good enough.’ It all felt like a personal attack. Maybe I will just put them in a drawer.

And then, on the last Friday before I was due to move house, I was in London, working, tap, tap, tapping away, when a miracle happened. My mobile rang. It was a number I didn’t recognise. Oh God. Who is it now? Amit, my accountant? HMRC? An angry relative? I answered it cautiously. A man’s voice was on the other end. ‘Hello. I hope you don’t mind my ringing, but I got your number at the vet’s. I have your cat here, Leo.’

Oh my goodness! If you remember, in the weeks leading up to my move from London to Somerset, exactly five years ago to the day, I had not long taken in a stray cat: black, with huge saucer eyes, just like Squeaky. He had been eating my cats’ food, and I noticed he was covered in wounds, and very thin.

I took him to the vet, who told me he had not been castrated, so was getting into lots of fights, hence the terrible lesions and torn ears. He was wormy, and covered in fleas but only about eight months old, so reasonably healthy. I spent £400 on patching him up, and getting him microchipped. I kept him and my cats in until the day of the move, terrified Susie would yet again go awol.

But the night before I finally left Islington, I woke up to discover Leo had broken the cat flap, and escaped. Although I left my buyer a description, and returned many times to search the square late at night, I never found him. Not until now.

Leo had made his way to Hampstead, and had apparently been living rough until a young couple took pity on him, and took him in. Noticing he seemed thin, and had a damaged leg, they took him to the vet, who at last swiped his microchip, which is how they got my number.

Felix, the rather aptly named man who called me, said they already have two cats, and don’t really want another. I told him I would fetch him the next day.

Which I did. He is now in the Cupboard, and tomorrow we will drive to Somerset, where I will keep him in for the few days before I move. He has somehow managed to bypass my spell in the West Country entirely! What a wise cat. Having to leave Leo behind, even though he had been my cat for such a short time, was one of the worst aspects of leaving London.Perhaps he was trying to tell me something.

My friend Isobel thinks his return to my life is a sign, a good omen. Nic thinks Squeaky sent him. Whatever the reason, I’m beginning to feel more like the old me, the one from five years ago, before all the upset and the poverty and the cold. As Mary J Blige sang so prophetically, ‘No more drama in my life.’ I’m ready for the fun part.